


Hellish Work

by insufficient_fishes



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Late Night Conversations, Mentioned God (Good Omens), murder mention, sin mentioned, weapons feature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29487090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insufficient_fishes/pseuds/insufficient_fishes
Summary: “I’m not a demon.”“Let’s start with names.”Gabriel hesitated; he knew he shouldn’t break protocol so severely. Disclosing anything about Heaven and its subsidiaries was strictly prohibited without the proper authorisation. And paperwork.But he was already in trouble. He nodded. Surely one human wouldn’t make a difference.The man stuck out a hand.“Dante Alighieri” He said. Gabriel looked at it. Gabriel looked at his own hand. Gabriel pulled a face, grasped and shook.“Gabe – ah – Gabby. At your service. Well, not really, but politely I am.” Dante nodded.“So then, Gabby. What does a demon look like?”“An adequate lawyer.”
Kudos: 2





	Hellish Work

Assumed: Körösszegapáti, Hungary – 20:16, July 10, 1290

He hitched his robes with a startled yelp at the sudden appearance of shit in the street. Or, more accurately, his sudden appearance into shit in the street. Gabriel frowned, his golden sandals browner and lumpier than usual. With care he lifted his right heel, then his toes, in a delicate point. A swift miracle solved the issue, and he set his foot down before he wobbled himself onto his… Human corporations – he could never get used to them. 

A brief survey of the alleyway granted no clue to his whereabouts, but the sun was casting long shadows and shutters were closing. As he turned, the sword at his hip tangled in his white robe and he nearly fell again. He scowled. Night was close. He strode out into a wide street, holding his breath against the perfect concoction of various animal refuse and human despair. Human cities all smelt the same. Side street vendors peered at him eagerly, perhaps a last transaction before the dark sent them scurrying. 

“Polenta d’orzo signore? Solo tre soldi!” Gabriel released his breath in annoyance, these languages seemed to change with the tides – which had not been his intention when he had created the tides. A baleful eye of his glanced heavenwards before he tried in hopeful Hungarian-

“-Take me to your leader.” The man stared at him as if he had sprouted an extra head. Actually – Gabriel patted his neck. Just the one today. He tried again. 

“I’m here to save your King.” Gabriel moved forward, trying to seem imploring. He covered his sword with a bit of his robe, to be thoughtful, but the guttural language and his sheer size sent the poor vendor stumbling to the meagre shelter of his cart. 

“Scusa per averti disturbato!” The man squeaked, before disappearing behind his cart. Gabriel rolled his eyes so forcefully he nearly discorporated himself. With a wince, he tapped his head. Once his left eye stopped spinning, he tried again. 

“Friend, take me to see your Ladislaus the fourth.” This language had a very different feel to the first. The thin face reappeared between two boxes. His ratty beard waved suspiciously. 

“You speak Italian?” 

Gabriel smiled in relief. “Is that what you call it these days?” He asked mildly. The man pulled back his chin in confusion until he was just two yellowy eyeballs and some hefty brows.

“What you mean?” His eyes narrowed. “You got spirits in the head or something?” Gabriel smiled again, this time magnanimously. Or some cousin to the expression.

“You have been chosen my friend. With a solemn duty. Solemn indeed! You must guide me to Ladislaus the fourth. He’s in grave peril.”

“Who the hell is he?” Gabriel’s eyes widened at the expletive. 

“Your King.” 

“Ain’t really got a King. Ain’t ever one worth saving.” The vendor sucked at his teeth. “You really here to protect a King?” Gabriel blinked in consternation.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.” 

“Pota de Cristo!” I don’t know you; you could be a white gelph.” 

“Take me to this King now, please.” 

“I don’t know who this is! Doesn’t sound like he would hang out with my types anyway.” 

“Aren’t you all the same?” Gabriel asked, confused. 

The vendor pulled a sour face. “Piss off! I need to get home.” Indeed, the shadows had grown so long it was hard to see the vendor between the various foodstuffs. The man threw water and dirt on his little fire and it grew even darker.

“But you have a duty.” Gabriel said. The man groaned.

“Head to Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, there’s this fellow who sits on a big rock there. He’s strange but knows a bit about a lot of things.” He piled the remaining food onto his cart. “Maybe he can help you find your King.” He disappeared into shadow again. “Italian my ass.” Came a low mutter. “Bloody foreigners.” 

“What way.” Gabriel sounded like a kicked mutt; Lord help him. 

“Down the street.” The man lifted his cart, pushing it through a gate between two buildings.

“After that?”

“Piss off.” And then the street was silent.

///

The vendor had scarpered. Gabriel sighed the heavy sigh of the long suffering. Work on Earth never got any easier. But… now he thought about it, the Cattedrale made perfect sense. With God-given purpose lifting his step, Gabriel set off down the road. 

The road took a turn, forked, forked again and then spooned. He emerged into a large courtyard. At the centre, a great shadow loomed. The building was huge, big enough to hold a city of people, hulking over everything like God’s judgement. Gabriel liked it.

Somewhere high, a clock rang out nine. He was late. Gabriel shivered a bit, the cold evening air nipping a little through the robe. A light flickered to sputtering life above great oaken doors. He approached them, and as he climbed the little steps the doors swung open soundlessly. Something fluttered in Gabriel’s chest and his sword arm flexed. The blackness was a little unnerving, was the King hiding in this church perhaps? Huddled in some dark corner, confused at the change in language? On that case, Gabriel was certainly sympathetic. As he entered, he sprinkled some holy water on his forehead, grinning at the slight boost of energy.

“Archangel Gabriel.” A blue light snapped into being and Gabriel stumbled into a pew. 

“Huh, okay.” Gabriel winced, shaking out his banged leg. “Wasn’t expecting you, Metatron. I’m in the middle of a job, so… Call back later?” the Metatron scowled.

“The job is the issue, Archangel.” Gabriel cocked his head.

“Does our Almighty have other missions for me here?”

“If she assigns you any more missions after this, you will be blessed indeed.” The Metatron’s self-rightous sneer set Gabriel’s hand twitching again. His sword was heavy against his hip. He smoothed down his robe instead. 

“You’re a good man – ah – fellow, sir. What’s really going on?” The Metatron fairly skewered him with a blue ice glare. 

“I’m serious Archangel. You really messed this up.” 

Gabriel laughed. The Metatron didn’t. Gabriel trailed off awkwardly. 

“Well I-”

“-Your mission was to protect King Ladislaus the fourth of Hungary, correct?” 

“That’s most certainly correct Metatron, and I’m just about to-”

“-He’s dead.” Gabriel blinked.

“He’s not supposed to do that...?”

“No Archangel! He isn’t!” 

“How the devil-”

“He died twenty minutes ago, three Cuman assassins - and don’t you dare blame Hell for this.” Gabriel shook his head in confusion.

“But I haven’t even met the man yet.” 

“Exactly. He’s in Hungary, Archangel.” Gabriel looked around.

“What’s the problem, I don’t…” 

“… This is Florence…” 

Gabriel blinked. “So, they’ve changed the name.”

“No!” The Metatron rumbled. “Florence, Italy. Been Florence, Italy for a while now.” Comprehension began to move through the Rube Goldberg machine that was Gabriel’s thinking process. He pressed his lips together.

“Wrong country then?” The Metatron had a strangled expression. It wasn’t particularly pretty.

“Most definitely.”

“Jeepers.” Gabriel scratched his head. He didn’t like feeling stupid, he decided.

“When you return to Heaven, Michael will have the details of your punishment.”

“But, just a tick-” 

“No ticks from you!” Roared the Metatron. “We are all disappointed with your work today. Speak no more with me. Reflect on your actions.” The light snapped off. Gabriel straightened his tunic again.

“Anyone would have done the same.” He mumbled to himself. Michael was probably laughing at him right now… He growled from the back of his throat. The Cattedrale was pitch black, only a bluish patch behind Gabriel gave any indication of the open door. He headed toward it grumbling. Bang! Crash! Gabriel nearly smote the entire city as he shrieked in pain. In the dark he had stumbled into a wooden pew, catching his toe on a thick chair leg. His eyes itched and watered as he hopped on one leg. Another crash as he fell clean over the pew behind him and it broke beneath his weight. In pained rage, he pulled out his sword and set it alight. Gabriel leapt to his feet and lay about blindly with a furious intention to reduce each and every wood presenting object to matchsticks. 

“Demon, be gone!” Someone shouted as Gabriel was drenched in water. His sword fizzled out sadly. Gabriel turned. A bent looking man stood with a ceramic bowl in his hands, frowning. “Now, I’m pretty certain that’s supposed to work” He said. A candle flickered on the pew behind him. Gabriel pulled at his sodden robe, forlorn despite the sudden flood of energy. The human had thrown holy water on him!

“What do you mean, demon?” Gabriel gestured at the white clothing. “Very obviously angelic, I’m wearing white.” He opened his eyes wide. “You see any snake eyes?” The man stepped back, fidgeted.

“Flaming sword.” He said, pointing.

“Angels can use swords. Ever seen a demon using a sword?”

“You were defiling a church.” Gabriel held up a finger.

“No, I was meting out justice to things within a church.”

“That’s definitely not good.” 

“You’re just a human, you’ve no concept of good.” The man grinned triumphantly. 

“Then, you admit it! You’re not human.” Gabriel paused.

“Well… I…”

“Why did the holy water not work?” The man raised the bowl threateningly. “Maybe if I say a prayer or…” Gabriel flung up his hands.

“No, no, no, no!” A prayer about him being a demon was the last thing he needed. “No need, holy water does work on demons, you’re right. Just, not a demon. I couldn’t be in this church if I was.” He tried to smile benevolently. The man shuddered, probably from the cold.

“You know a lot about demons then?”

Gabriel nodded hesitantly.

“If you come with me, then no prayers to heaven.” 

Gabriel thought. He could, in all reality, squash this little man like a bug. But that probably wasn’t very angelic.

“And if I don’t?” 

The man looked him dead in the eye, set his bowl down, and slowly brought his hands together. Angled them up. Optimal prayer position. He closed his eyes. “Dear Lord in Heaven.”

“Alright, alright, point proven.” Gabriel said tetchily.

“Follow me.” The little man turned, picked up his candle, and weaved his way out the doors. Gabriel sighed and followed. The two crossed the square under a clear and brilliant sky. The man stopped at a rock, a big rock, and plopped himself down. He gestured to the ground next to the rock. “Take a seat.” Gabriel eased himself down gingerly, miracling a cloth between his robe and the flagstones. It was still cold. He crossed his legs. His sword stuck him in the thigh.

“Why am I here?” Gabriel asked. The man leaned back and gazed at the sky. 

“Because you are a demon and I need your knowledge.”

“I’m not a demon.”

“Let’s start with names.” 

Gabriel hesitated; he knew he shouldn’t break protocol so severely. Disclosing anything about Heaven and its subsidiaries was strictly prohibited without the proper authorisation. And paperwork. But he was already in trouble. He nodded. Surely one human wouldn’t make a difference. The man stuck out a hand. “Dante Alighieri” He said. Gabriel looked at it. Gabriel looked at his own hand. Gabriel pulled a face, grasped and shook.

“Gabe – ah – Gabby. At your service. Well, not really, but politely I am.” Dante nodded.

“So then, Gabby. What does a demon look like?”

“An adequate lawyer.”

“What?”

“They look dangerous.” Gabriel remembered one particular demon; his lips curled in… disgust? “Or greasy.” 

“Are they all in possession of flaming swords?” 

“Angel thing.”

“So, flames are actually angelic.”

“Not all.” Gabriel shifted the sword away from his leg. It dug into his hip instead.

“Are there flames in the Pit of Hell?” Gabriel felt deeply offended.

“I don’t know that! I’ve never fallen.” He shifted again; the sword dug in harder.

“How many levels are there?”

“Levels?” Gabriel growled in annoyance, ripped the sword off his belt and flung it. It clattered to the flagstones. Dante ignored him.

“Do they shove the popes with the panderers and hypocrites or are they in their own little area?”

“Which popes?” Gabriel crossed his legs again, finally comfortable.

“Do they have big holes full of excrement?”

“We just gave them the basement; I have no idea how they decorated.” Gabriel wrinkled his nose. “But that might explain the smell. They probably bathe in the stuff.”

“Did God freeze Satan in a lake of ice?”

“Freeze him? Why would She do that?”

“She?” Dante eye Gabriel suspiciously. “Are you sure you’re not a heretic?”

Gabriel rubbed his brow. “Why are you asking all this?” 

“I’m writing a book.” Dante paused. “Well I might. I’m a poet, you see. Not very reliable.”

“On Hell?”

“Yes.”

Gabriel frowned. “Well, you should remember, they are the bad guys.” 

“That shouldn’t be difficult.”

Gabriel looked at the ground. “No need to rub it in.” He mumbled. 

“What?”

“Why are you writing about Hell? Don’t poets just write about long lost loves and big gardens?” Dante looked affronted.

“I did the love thing, just wanted to try something new.” 

Gabriel lifted his head. “Ahh, the whole, love is Hell situation…” His gaze wandered off. “That I can agree with.” 

Dante shot a glance at Gabriel. “I didn’t think a not-a-demon could love.” 

Gabriel jerked, froze, then gestured grandly. “Angels are made of love.”

Dante chuckled. “Messy human love?” 

Gabriel twisted his face into what he thought was disgust – lots of lip movement. “The love of angels is pure and graceful.”

“Do you believe that?” 

“I don’t like what you’re implying, Dante Alighieri.” 

“Simply that all love springs from the same well.” 

“Only humans draw from such a spring. That is the difference between you and me. Angels are their own spring.”

“And demons?”

“I’d assume that the heat of hell would dry them out.” 

“Isn’t love ultimately a celebration of God?”

Dante leaned forward on his rock, eyes bright, attention completely on Gabriel as the angel spoke. “By that definition then, demons cannot love.” 

“That’s how I would put it.” Dante said. “But why do you hesitate?”

“What if you loved a demon?”

“That’s impossible.” Dante said. Gabriel missed the weight of a great big sword on fire. 

“If love is a celebration of God, wouldn’t you be obligated to love it?” 

Dante shifted on his rock, thinking. “A demon is not of god.”

“But it was. It still is. God saw enough worth saving within them to keep them around. She has all the might in the world, destroying them would have been nothing out of her power. But She didn’t. She kept them around. She still loves them. Though She has punished them.” 

“Loving a demon is loving a sin.” Dante stated flatly. Gabriel felt alarmed at the implication.

“Angels don’t sin.” 

“Falling ones do.” Gabriel looked to where he had thrown his sword. He ached to retrieve it. Words were never as mighty when one could stick a nice shiny sword into the speaker. 

“Could the act of loving someone be a sin?” Gabriel asked instead. Dante drew in a breath. Then thought. He said:

“My Lady, God will say, ‘didst thou not fear’   
(When my soul standeth yonder in His sight)   
‘To pass the Heavens and seek Me even here,   
Vain love pursuing my image dight?   
To Me doth praise belong,   
And to the Queen of Heaven, who from her sphere   
Of glory endeth wrong.’   
Then I could plead, ‘Thy angels up above,   
O Lord like her appear;  
I did not sin in giving her my love.” 

It took a while for Dante’s sudden proliferation of words to seep into the less than expansive sponge that was purportedly Gabriel’s brain.

“What’s all that got to do with anything?” He asked, with a thundering scowl that he’d definitely stolen from the Metatron.

“It’s a poem.” Gabriel looked mutinuous, so Dante added, “a bit of a poem.”

“I think you’re wasting my time.” Gabriel said, an edge to his voice. 

“This is an example, of love as an action, bestowed upon someone worthy.”

“What?”

“Love as a spring would imply an inability of choice, so maybe we are not wellsprings of love. Maybe we are water bearers. Carrying something life giving, bestowing it upon those we believe are worthy.”

“You mean,” Gabriel said slowly, “that there are some in this world that are not worthy of water.”

“You can’t give water to everyone, you are not infinite.”

“Something feels very wrong about denying anyone access to water.” 

“Then how could you deny anyone your love, demon or not, should they come asking?”

The hairs prickled on the back of his neck. This feeling was familiar, this feeling was danger. “What makes them worthy then?” 

“Maybe that they were brave enough to ask.” 

“No demon would ask this, and no angel could give this.”

“Isn’t it more of a sin to deny something so vital to our wellbeing?” Dante asked. Gabriel ground his teeth

“You speak of us like this applies to me. We are not the same species.”

“A dog can find water on its own, yet it remains a pet.”

Gabriel stood up abruptly. His heart was pounding, he felt sick with sweat. “Humans. You are all the same.” He growled. “Stop pushing the boundaries.” Dante bounded up beside him.

“Hang on, you can’t leave like this. You’ve made me curious…” Gabriel picked up his sword. Fury tightened his grip on the pommel. This was why questions were frowned upon in Heaven. 

“Your curiousity is what brought this world upon you!” He spat out. “You’ve already lost Paradise, sink no further-’ Gabriel’s rage was fierce and burning, he knew his eyes were lost to twin pools of fire, “-or your questions will be answered by Hell itself.” Dante tried valiantly to hide his fear, but he couldn’t hold in the faint squeak as his knees gave out. Dante dropped, ass to stone.

“May God be with you.’ Dante whispered, his voice trembling as he realised an angel really was standing before him. Gabriel brought out mighty wings and thrust into the air. He was already in trouble, manifesting wings in front of a mortal would change little. As he rose into the night, a flash of guilt had him leaving a small blessing behind. He would remember nothing Gabriel decided. But the man would dream. A long one maybe, with strange symbols, guardian angels. Divine inspiration aplenty. He will have a dream that will leave an impact. 

///

Far below, a bent man was leaning against a wall. His hands shook, but he didn’t know why. He nodded, thoughts scattering like leaves on the wind. “A demon decides to love… Doesn’t give the rest of us much of an excuse.” He said. Then he frowned. Uncertain where the phrase had come from. Dante Alighieri sat back and thought about the stars.


End file.
